


If I time it right, the thunder breaks

by seventeensteps



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventeensteps/pseuds/seventeensteps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nic’s skin was cold, and Worick hoped that it was from the rain<br/>“You really owe me a new shirt after this, Nic.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I time it right, the thunder breaks

It was a rainy day.

When Worick found him, the surrounding pools of water were already tinted with various shades of red. The pouring rain washed away some of it, but there was always more trickling down to keep the water tainted. Worick couldn’t move for a second, his legs growing heavy like lead. No matter how many times he’d done this before, it’d never be easy.

Nic’s skin was cold, and Worick hoped that it was from the rain. He was breathing, a bit too faint for Worick’s liking, but still breathing nonetheless. Worick tried to get him to stand but Nic was totally out this time. He sighed. Worick thought about how Nic would complain if he was awake, but he was obviously not, so. Worick lifted the man up into his arms and started walking.

“You really owe me a new shirt after this, Nic.”

 

\--

 

Worick hated the distinct smell of sanitizer. He hated how he was getting used to it.

“A broken rib, a broken arm, two gunshot wounds, and some other minor injuries,” Theo said after discarding the used medical gloves. “Take more care of your twilight, Worick, if you don’t want to look for a new one.”

“It wasn’t even my fault this time, Doctor. He just ran off on his own.” Worick plastered a flippant smile on his face, although he knew this man would see through it anyway. Theo just looked at them, lit a new cigarette, and walked away. The door shut lightly behind him.

Worick turned to look at the frail body in the white clinic bed. Nic looked so little like this. Of course, he was already small in a normal situation, but now he looked even smaller, covered in bandages and stitches. It took Worick back to all those years ago when Nic was lying in a bed at home, tubes hanging all over him. Worick thought about how scared he was back then.

That feeling hadn’t changed much all these years.

Worick touched that face, then moved his hand up to brush the hair away from those eyes. Nic’s eyelashes were dark, a stark contrast to his pale skin. “Hurry and wake up already, Nic, you bastard.” Worick leaned in closer, his face a mere inch from those lashes. “Maybe I have to kiss you to wake you up.”

No answer. Of course.

Worick sighed, moving away from Nic’s face, and laid his head on his arms folded on top of the coarse white sheet. He stayed like that until he fell asleep.

 

\--

 

When Worick woke up, Nic was already awake. He turned to look at Worick for a brief moment and then looked away again. His color seemed better. Good.

‘Hi, partner,’ he signed.

‘Hi,’ Nic signed back.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better. When can I get out of here?’ Nic signed clumsily with just one hand.

Worick snorted, and reached up to flick his forehead. Nic blinked, then glared at him. ‘I’ll call Doctor Theo,’ Worick signed and started to look for the man.

 

\--

 

It was three days before Theo let Nic out of the clinic, but getting to go home early didn’t mean no more rest was needed. “Keep your eyes on him. Don’t let him _run off on his own_ again. And if I see your stupid faces again within two weeks, I’ll sedate you and turn you into my new test subjects.”

Strenuous activity was strongly unadvised, then.

“All right, doc,” he said, saluting him with two fingers, then turned around to follow the injured man who was already almost out of his line of sight.

When they got home, the first thing Nic did was walking to the cork board where several unfinished jobs were being pinned on. He took out one. Worick nearly threw the telephone in his hand at that fool’s head.

Moving to block the smaller man’s way, he said sternly, “Nicolas.”

Nic looked up at him and signed, ‘What.’

“You know _what_. Theo said no to anything that could make the wounds reopen.”

‘When did you listen to him?’

Worick stared at him. “I’ve always listened to the good doctor. It’s you who don’t.”

Nic rolled his eyes.

“Come on. You can continue with work as soon as you’re better, Nico, but for now, rest.” Worick took the piece of paper away from Nic, who gave in pretty easily (he had to feel worse than he looked), and ushered him into his room. “You’re going to stay in my room,” he said before Nic could protest.

The grumbling was his only response.

After getting Nic to lie down properly, Worick pulled the cover up to his chin and stood there.

‘Stop fussing.’

“Stop getting hurt, then.”

Nic’s eyes were unreadable. He looked away and signed, ‘You know I can’t.’

He frowned. “Sorry.” Worick didn’t know if Nic saw that or not, but decided that he should give the man some space. He backed away, then paused when he reached the door.

He signed something to Nic, who was watching some cracks in the walls.

Those words hung there in the air between them.

 

\--

 

Let it not be said that Worick almost lost his shit when he walked into his empty room.

_Where has that guy go-_

‘Hi,’ Nic signed to him from the spot in front of the stairs, droplets of water dripping from his chin. He smirked. ‘You look a bit ruffled, Worick.’

“Ugh.” He sank down on the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

‘I’m resting. I’m not running around somewhere, am I?’

Worick raised an eyebrow at him, then shook his head. “Hey, whatever. Here, take the couch,” he said and got up. “I’m going to go fix us some breakfast. Don’t go anywhere.”

Nic glowered at him, eyes exuding defiance.

“Don’t make me turn that into an order, Nico,” Worick said, and started for the kitchen downstairs. Nic’s eyes were enough of a reassurance and a dagger to his chest.

The defiance was still there. The fire, though, was already out.

 

When Worick came up with two plates of eggs and bread, his little friend had moved from the couch to the window. Nic was leaning outside, cool air caressing his short hair. The pale morning rays fell on his small frame and made every edge look softer, his face washed in golden light, his hair more brown than black. Worick slowly breathed in the tranquility around them. A part of him wished they could stay like this forever; another part knew that it was better not to wish for unattainable things.

“Nico,” he began, like he had many times before, but even in this moment, Worick could never finish it.

Worick knocked on the walls a couple of times and Nic seemed to have finally come out of whatever reverie he was in. “Nico,” he repeated, and although it sounded the same, that meaning was lost. He nodded at the plates on the coffee table. “Breakfast’s ready.”

Nic placed a paperback on the desk before flopping down on the other couch and started eating.

 

\--

 

Nic spent the rest of today alternating between lying on a couch and looking out of the room and reading. He seemed restless, but managed to stay in all day. Even when Worick went out to deliver some stuffs he got from Theo yesterday. He could see from the look on Nic’s face that he didn’t sneak out while Worick was away. He was sorry for Nic. If it were him, he’d bored to death as well. But this was for Nic’s own health.

“How’re you feeling, pal?”

Nic glanced up at him and then resumed reading.

All right.

 

\--

 

Worick woke up to a familiar voice in the middle of the night. It was faint, but Worick had always been listening for it.

“Nic?” the room was dark, but he could see the trembling shoulder of the body in the bed. Nic was lying on his side with his back to Worick, obviously trying to avoid causing any more damage to his broken right arm.

Worick carefully touched Nic’s shoulder. He was grunting and then whimpering. It looked like Nic was holding something to his chest. He leaned in closer to see what it was.

Oh.

His left eye throbbed – and then it was gone. So fast that he almost thought it didn’t happen.

Nic was holding – pressing, more like – his shaking, yet uninjured right palm against his chest. The pain from his injuries might have triggered it.

He reached over and delicately took Nic’s right hand into his own, taking care not to disrupt the healing arm. “Nico,” he said, and slowly lowered himself down to the floor beside the bed. “It’ll be okay. Just sleep.”

The shaking was still going on, but after a few moments, it gradually subsided. Worick just sit there, with one hand holding his friend’s, whispering soft words to Nic’s unhearing ears. “Nico,” he said, almost more to himself than to the owner of that word.

When it was finally gone, Worick felt a tiny squeeze from the hand he was holding. He smiled. With his unoccupied hand, Worick wrote the word _‘sleep’_ on Nic’s back. There was no response. The smaller hand remained there in his grasp.

Worick looked at the back turned to him. He was grateful for it – for being allowed to protect this back.

“Nico,” he said, fingers on the other hand touching the nape of that bare neck. Before he could talk himself out of it, Worick leaned in and pasted a light kiss onto that patch of skin.

 

“Nico.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'Neptune' by Sleeping At Last


End file.
